


I Don't Even Know Your Name

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 12:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11082000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: Regeneration always messes with his memories, but the dark-haired, sad-eyed waitress is familiar in a different kind of way...





	I Don't Even Know Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ficlet I wrote well over eighteen months ago, and it's been sat in a folder ever since (possibly because I remembered it being a screenplay extract... don't ask.) Anyway, it's seeing the light of day. Enjoy.

It’s hot out, and he enters the diner with a blissful sigh, enjoying the cool but stale breeze of the air conditioning. In one corner, a girl with long dark hair is wiping down a table, and another is perched behind the counter, smiling prettily and jotting in a notepad despite the lack of customers to serve. Both are dressed in uniforms of dazzling TARDIS-blue, and he feels oddly at home given the presence of the colour. 

“Urm, hi,” he mumbles, abruptly feeling a little shy, because truth be told the girl at the counter is intimidating, especially when she turns her gaze to him and her face breaks into a dazzling smile. She hops down from her perch and rests her hands lightly on the countertop, surveying him with a cheerful expression that he’s sure is down to him alleviating her boredom. Or so he tells himself, determined not to allow his ego to get out of control. 

“Hey! What can I get you?” she asks, her voice English and lightly northern, and he struggles to find his words for a moment, trying to blame the heat, as she meets his gaze with her deep hazel eyes, which are wide and expressive and somehow sad. 

“Ah, lemonade, please. On the rocks.” 

“On the rocks? If you’re looking for liquor, this isn’t the place.” Her mouth tilts up on one side into a gentle, teasing smile, and a dimple appears in her cheek. “But sure.” She lingers for a moment, her eyes not leaving his, before turning away and pouring him a glass of ice cold liquid, adding a striped straw with a little flourish, and then handing the drink to him. 

He’s regained some composure now, despite their hands brushing as she passes it, and he scrutinises her. “Why do you keep staring like that?” he asks her curiously, and she frowns a little, but without real feeling.

“I don’t know, stranger. Why do you?” she counters before smiling, and he can tell that she’s only teasing, but he isn’t. 

“I’ve got this funny feeling you’ve served me before,” he stammers, suddenly embarrassed again, wondering if she’s yet another person he’s meeting out of order. “I remember this diner.” He realises abruptly. “I was here with… with Amy, and Rory…” he frowns, and her face changes, her mouth opening slightly in realisation and shock. 

“…Doctor?” she asks, and he is even more surprised that she knows him, cursing himself for not remembering her, until he realises that he knows _her_ too – the waitress from Nevada. The one who had seemed so familiar and yet so alien. He realises then that he doesn’t know her name, and is about to ask, when she interjects. “I’ll be honest with you, I preferred the eyebrows. At least you had more hair.” She laughs, and he does too, grateful for the distraction. 

“Well, I figured it was time for a change… and I can’t help it if that Clara must have driven me to tearing my hair out,” he jests, and her face contorts as though in pain. He isn’t sure what he’s said wrong, but he suddenly feels guilty nonetheless. “I still haven’t found her, not even in Space-Glasgow.” 

“Well, if Space-Glasgow did your face, I’d ask for your money back,” she quips, but her eyes are full of sadness as she turns and walks away towards the back room with a sense of finality. “Sorry, we’re closing up.” 

He can hear the catch in her voice, and his hearts ache for a reason he can’t place as he slowly walks to the door, surprised when she follows him. “Your name,” he asks urgently, needing to know. “What’s your name?” 

She stays inside as he steps back out into the heat, smiling sadly.

“Clara,” she says softly. “It’s Clara.” 

She locks the door and walks away, leaving him speechless in the baking sun.

 


End file.
